Anna Demirovna (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
indiscreet) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
multiversallogs2011-08-04 05:26 am
indiscreet) wrote in multiversallogs2011-08-04 05:26 am
Entry tags:
I see a bad moon rising
Who: the Huntress (Anna) and “lucky” you (OPEN)
What: breaking down and going full True Fae, for your pleasure and entertainment
Where: ~moonpools~
When: the night after the Missions conclude
Notes: For the binding in question, see this log. Also, the Huntress is fun, but difficult, to write... so tags may be on the slow side.
Warnings: creepiness, and possible triggery-ness. This is the sort of character who will casually talk of violence and of using mortal humans as playthings. Oh, and skinny dipping.
The worst part of the fog, she thought, had been the way it had clawed at not just her body, but her mind. Yes, there had been dangers of the kind she could shoot, but that hadn’t really been the point of them, had it? They were a distraction, more like, as sharp teeth and serpents drained whatever mental resolve had been keeping Anna and the Huntress separate.
She had remembered things, out in the fog, from before she was Anna. Beautiful, vivid, perfect hunts through Arcadian forests, chasing deer that had once been mortals. Crimson blood is so very striking on white fur, and white skin.
Anna recalled hearing about the moonpools, when she first arrived in Baedal. They had interested her, then, but -- the realization had hit her suddenly, after Nuala’s binding -- not because of the part of her that was Anna. Now, that barrier is crumbling, and covering herself in liquid moonlight seems like exactly the recovery she is owed. She rubs her thumb along the embroidered ribbon tied about her left wrist. The stitching is frayed, though she can’t recall how it got that way.
And she loves the forest at night, doesn’t she? Hasn’t she always? It’s so easy to get there, her power quickening her feet. There’s a flicker of a thought: that she ought to hold back, that there is something she shouldn’t be doing. But her mind is tired, and glamour is heavy. Silly to wear one, and she shrugs it off, lightning streaming through her dark hair and over her pale skin. A sigh of relief: how light she feels, like she had forgotten how it felt to be anything but clumsy and heavy.
The Huntress scatters Anna’s clothing over the moss and the ferns, and slides herself into a silvery pool.
What: breaking down and going full True Fae, for your pleasure and entertainment
Where: ~moonpools~
When: the night after the Missions conclude
Notes: For the binding in question, see this log. Also, the Huntress is fun, but difficult, to write... so tags may be on the slow side.
Warnings: creepiness, and possible triggery-ness. This is the sort of character who will casually talk of violence and of using mortal humans as playthings. Oh, and skinny dipping.
The worst part of the fog, she thought, had been the way it had clawed at not just her body, but her mind. Yes, there had been dangers of the kind she could shoot, but that hadn’t really been the point of them, had it? They were a distraction, more like, as sharp teeth and serpents drained whatever mental resolve had been keeping Anna and the Huntress separate.
She had remembered things, out in the fog, from before she was Anna. Beautiful, vivid, perfect hunts through Arcadian forests, chasing deer that had once been mortals. Crimson blood is so very striking on white fur, and white skin.
Anna recalled hearing about the moonpools, when she first arrived in Baedal. They had interested her, then, but -- the realization had hit her suddenly, after Nuala’s binding -- not because of the part of her that was Anna. Now, that barrier is crumbling, and covering herself in liquid moonlight seems like exactly the recovery she is owed. She rubs her thumb along the embroidered ribbon tied about her left wrist. The stitching is frayed, though she can’t recall how it got that way.
And she loves the forest at night, doesn’t she? Hasn’t she always? It’s so easy to get there, her power quickening her feet. There’s a flicker of a thought: that she ought to hold back, that there is something she shouldn’t be doing. But her mind is tired, and glamour is heavy. Silly to wear one, and she shrugs it off, lightning streaming through her dark hair and over her pale skin. A sigh of relief: how light she feels, like she had forgotten how it felt to be anything but clumsy and heavy.
The Huntress scatters Anna’s clothing over the moss and the ferns, and slides herself into a silvery pool.
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"I really would have done it, you know," she says at last, still almost whispering. "I would have tried to take you, even though there's nowhere here to go."
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"...We should go home, shouldn't we."
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